


Hirsuite

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dylan likes Tyler. He doesn't think Tyler feels the same. In fact, something's going on with Tyler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hirsuite

**Author's Note:**

> For Laraneia who prompted this madness. Disclaimer: I don't think this is real and I'm really sorry for writing it.

“New shirt.”

“…Yeah?”

“Suits you. It’s a good colour. Shade. Shape. It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

And that was the start of it.

 

Tyler had always been one of the gang. There hadn’t ever been that weird tension between older and younger – which would have been a bit hypocritical being as most of the cast were in their twenties. Except for him. There had also been a real amount of holy shit we’re in Atlanta and we don’t really know anyone else. It had been good. Hanging out had been easy – easier when Posey pulled out his endless supply of quality weed.

Dylan had initially put the awkwardness down to the shift in filming location. And they hadn’t really hung out that much over the summer – he’d been halfway across the country. But that ease had gone. It was fine when they were all together but Dylan quickly realised that Tyler never spent any time with him alone anymore. The strange phone call after his birthday was the only explanation he had and Dylan ran it over in his brain possibly more than was healthy.

It was hard to put his finger on why it bothered him so much that Tyler wasn’t comfortable with him. Dylan had panicked for a while that his raging crush had been discovered but it wasn’t that. Colton wouldn’t have let that one go if anyone else realised. Or Holland. Or Posey. Maybe he should find some new cast mates. But he liked Tyler as more than just an object of fantasy. His imagination was pretty damn happy with Tyler as that, especially in the shower. Or in his bed. Or- But it was more than that. Tyler was his friend and his friend was obviously not happy with him and that sucked.

Dylan maybe wasn’t needed on set technically for the first big shirtless scene but he always kinda enjoyed teasing himself by hanging around, pretending to play Angry Birds and surreptitiously watching Tyler get all oiled up for his writhing around in pain. Tyler was staring mournfully down as the make-up girl applied some kind of gel to his bare chest.

“Is it cold?” Dylan hadn’t meant to scare him but Tyler still jumped a mile. He looked wild around the eyes for a moment – more Derek than Tyler – before he smiled an uneasy smile.

“Little bit.” His tone was supposed to put Dylan off. But he obviously didn’t understand that tenacity was Dylan O’Brien’s new middle name.

“You’ve buffed up though. Being working out? More? Because you look good.” Dylan bit at his lip to stop saying anything else and to stop the make-up girl eyeing him more significantly than she currently was.

Tyler nodded, almost reluctantly. “Protein shakes, too.” His eyes skated over Dylan who finally decided to acknowledge the awkward for what it was and nodded at him before pretending to wave at Posey and head off to the other side of the set. He had to take a private moment to fix the image of Tyler, shirtless, wet and fierce into his memory for later though.

 

Dylan was lying back in his trailer looking at the beige carpeted ceiling when Tyler finally tracked him down. Dylan had decided that since he’d obviously done something to offend Tyler and since Tyler didn’t want to see him that avoidance was the best course of action. He wasn’t moping, oh no. This was avoidance.

He was moping.

He didn’t even bother looking over to see who was coming in and was surprised to see Tyler’s face peering over him. He didn’t move. It wasn’t so much a conscious choice as the fact all his muscles had seized tight.

“Hi.” Tyler sounded soft. Fond. It was such a one-eighty from earlier that Dylan still didn’t know how to respond. “I just wanted to talk.”

And that was ominous. Nothing good ever really followed that. “Yeah.” Dylan stayed where he was for a moment before realising he should probably man up and sit properly. As he rearranged himself – something that took more limbs that it really should – he was suddenly aware of the smell of coffee. Proper coffee. Not the craft services stuff which was, you know, hot and constant and had added cookieness, but actual bought from a frou-frou café. That Tyler would have had to go get himself or pay someone well over the odds to fetch. He also had two cups and one was being held towards Dylan in this _shy_ way.

“What gives?” The coffee tribute was accepted gratefully and, man, did it ever taste better than it smelled. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Yeah.” Well that certainly seemed reassuring. Dylan scooted over on the couch and patted the space beside him. Maybe it was another step in the constant torture of himself because the couch was probably too small for the both of them to sit without touching a whole lot and Dylan didn’t really need to touch Tyler that much but it was nice. And totally covered by the whole aforementioned couch size issue. Tyler slunk into the space, relaxed at first then infinitesimally tenser the longer he sat there.

Nothing to make a guy feel at ease or anything.

Dylan tried the drinking coffee thing some more. It was, indeed, sweet manna from heaven. But he could only bite his tongue for so long. “Did I do something? Or say something? Because I know I can kind of forget boundaries and say things before my brain really filters them and I don’t want to… you know,” he ended lamely.

“It’s not you.” Tyler jumped in quickly and then he and Dylan made almost identical grimaces. “Which just makes it sound even worse.” They both laughed.

“You say that shit at the end of a relationship.” Dylan started to laugh even harder. “Not at the beginning.” He stopped laughing pretty quickly when he caught sight of the twist in Tyler’s mouth, the way he definitely wasn’t laughing. Instead he looked almost panicked, wide around the eyes. Suddenly a few things fell into place. Or. Well. They fell into a suspicion of a place. “Is that…?”

Tyler’s mouth hung open. His drink dangled in his hand forgotten as he stared at Dylan, brain obviously whirring over without actually clicking into gear. His eyes widened, greener than normal. Suddenly Tyler wheezed, lungs kicking back in and Dylan breathed with him for a moment, sympathetically. They were staring at each other in a way that was definitely the prelude to something, the outside world completely forgotten until the battering of fists shook the trailer door.

Less moping. More trying to read Tyler’s mind. Yeah. He could do that.

 

Alcohol. That was fabulous. Beer was more than three. Vodka. Not so much the whiskey which burned like a mother. Finding his drink was awesome. Sure he’d been drinking on and off for years but this was serious, legal, in a bar drinking. With the best buddies/cast mates he could have hoped for. And Tyler. Tyler had started the night on the fringes holding up the bar. Then he’d migrated to a stool. Then a booth. And it wasn’t like he was stalking. It was more like he was drifting in Dylan’s direction with every inhibition loosening drink.

“Air?” Dylan asked, hot and sweaty and with his stomach twisting knots. “I could do with some air.”

“Please do not puke on my shoes.” Tyler led him to the outdoor beer garden/smoker’s exile/empty place with a few barrels on the roof pretending to be a veranda. There were empty seats too – loungers like at the side of the pool. That was genius awesome.

“Just needed air. Too hot.” Dylan fanned the front of his sweat soaked t-shirt up, enjoying cool breezes. He did it again only to find it wouldn’t move. He opened eyes he wasn’t aware he’d shut to see Tyler’s hand holding his shirt down. Tyler was hovering, swaying, over him. “You should sit down.” 

Now. Dylan was ninety nine percent sure that what he had said was sit down. He was certain he hadn’t invited Tyler to sit down on him, swing his leg across and straddle Dylan’s thighs, his weight comforting, warm and grounding. Dylan decided he liked it this way after all and raised hands that felt like they were stapled to the end of limp noodles to hold Tyler in place. “Nice.”

“Uh huh.” Tyler was mocking his manliness and his ability to hold his liquor and Dylan was going to respond but he was happy and comfortable and Tyler smelled good under the alcohol and he was tired. He was still too hot and the easiest way to cool down was still to get rid of his t-shirt. Dylan started struggling under Tyler, pulling it up, fighting against Tyler’s octopus hands that were trying to stop him. Alcohol also made him wrigglier and sneakier and finally he had the thin material scooped up under his armpits and his chest was heaving in the bare night air.

Tyler’s hands were hovering, then Tyler himself was hovering. Dylan had to listen carefully to make out the words that were directed at his collar bone. But he was sure he could make out Tyler saying, “No. No. No. No. No.”

“Yes.” Sure he was drunk and probably well on his way to insensible. But two and a bit years of pressure and tension and sheer want slid the brakes on his tongue and Dylan just wanted something to happen. He had hopes but none of them came close to the feel of Tyler’s lips on his skin, the way his hands stroked, caressed. Even through the fuzz of the alcohol, Dylan could feel himself reacting pushing up, gasping. He had no control over his mouth (less than usual, anyway) as Tyler nosed across his chest, nuzzling the scattering of hair before catching a nipple between his teeth.

That made Dylan buck up, hips thrusting against an answering hardness in Tyler’s ass-hugging jeans and the lounger underneath them collapse. By the time they’d untangled and Dylan had pulled his clothing back into place, whatever buzz he’d been maintaining had dampened down into a need to sleep with a soupcon of a need to throw up.

Tyler saw him home. In fact, Tyler did more than that. Dylan was sure he was losing time and space as he seemed to be in a cab and in his shower and on the street and in his bed which would not stop spinning. A warm palm brushing through his too-long hair and rubbing against his ankle where he’d kicked it out from under the sheets. Finally he was able to sleep.

 

Tyler was still there in the morning, wrapped in the throw off the back of the couch, fast asleep, stubble already approaching beard. Dylan tried to be quiet as he strolled through the apartment to reach the coffee maker. He was mostly successful, only stumbling against one doorway. He was oddly surprised that his stomach wasn’t trying to crawl out of his throat or that his head wasn’t cleaved in two. Either youth was on his side or perhaps he’d managed to not drink that much.

“Or maybe you’re still drunk.” Tyler was in the doorway watching, eyes half closed. The throw had been left behind on the sofa and he was there in just his boxers and it wasn’t anything that Dylan hadn’t seen before but it felt different. That weird tension in the air. Something he couldn’t pin down. So he gave into the yawn he felt building and turned back to the dreaded machine. Suddenly Tyler was a warm presence along his back, not touching but close. It was almost too easy to sway back, feel all that smooth, silken skin press against his back. Tyler’s breath caught. “You…”

“Can we skip past any awkward conversations? Get some coffee and, I don’t know. Snuggle?” Maybe he was still drunk. Definitely pre-coffee, at any rate. He certainly didn’t think he’d be quite this shameless normally. Or this breathless waiting on a reply.

Tyler’s arms slid around his waist, skirting the waistband of his own boxers (hey, no pants! He didn’t remember taking those off last night) and slipped up under the thin, worn material of his t-shirt. He liked this shirt. It was probably too old to really wear out but no one was going to be taking pictures of him when they had Colton and Tyler to look at. He felt less bad about that as Tyler’s hand shifted up, fingers stuttering over his treasure trail, working up to the embarrassingly small sprinkle over the centre of his chest. Tyler stopped there, thumb stroking from side to side.

“Dude?” Tyler’s hips were rocking now – just a little, but enough that Dylan could feel his half-hard cock rubbing against the curve of his ass. Maybe it was Tyler who was still drunk. Despite the fact he was older and could hold his liquor.

“Mmmm?” The sound wasn’t as much an actual word as an exhalation of warm air against that really sensitive spot on Dylan’s neck. And the whole rocking thing was something maybe Dylan could get in on, tilting his ass to tease and tempt. That made Tyler stutter and stop.

“We shouldn’t.” His voice tried to sound all certain but there was a waver in it, a real wishfulness, that Dylan hoped he’d not hear again. He was obviously going to be the man here. Manfully abandon the coffee making anyway. Deep breath. Courage. He could do this. He’d done scarier. Although not really. He was about to put himself out there with one of his best friends and it was good that it was scary. He had to step away from Tyler to strip off his shirt and toss it aside. He also had to step away to turn around. He wasn’t quite brave enough for boxers yet but that wasn’t going to stop him lunging towards Tyler, grabbing on to those narrow hips and pushing until Tyler had his back against the wall.

“I want.” Dylan didn’t think he could be more obvious. But just in case Tyler didn’t get the whole, unequivocal, shouting from the rooftops message, he planted a sticky, gross morning breath of a kiss on his shocked open mouth. Tyler didn’t respond for too long, his mouth a hard line of obstinate denial, before he gave in, arching up up against Dylan. Floodgates. That was what were opened. Hands, mouths, legs, cocks, entire bodies craving for more more more more more. Eventually Tyler pulled back, his broad chest heaving, his eyes wide and blown and his mouth kiss red. Dylan could feel the rub of stubble burn and smiled. He had a moment of wondering exactly how that was going to feel against the rest of him before Tyler planted a hand in the middle of his own heaving chest (bosom? He could totally romance novel this shit).

Tyler let out a soft sound, half gasp and half regret. That made Dylan start to worry. “Shit. No. Not you. Not this.” Tyler had shifted into full on panic mode. Then he began to blush. Hard. Tomato red. Fire hydrant red. Redder than a very red thing. “It’s just-“ His fingers clenched in Dylan’s spare little sprinkling of chest hair that he’d never been asked to wax for the show. And suddenly Dylan got it.

“Got a little kink there, Hoechlin?” He didn’t mind. He was already planning ahead, looking forward to the time Tyler didn’t have to be waxed, bronzed and godlike. Looking forward to hiatus, next season, beyond. A sharp ache he wasn’t even aware was present seemed to melt and fade inside his chest. “I like it.”

Tyler kissed him again. “Dude. Coffee. Brush your teeth.”

“Then we fuck, right?” Dylan rolled his still insistent erection against Tyler’s own, enjoying the rush. He had a moment’s warning – an evil glint in Tyler’s eyes, perhaps – before he was spun around and pinned against the wall. Tyler smirked at him before sinking to his knees, way too gracefully, and pulling Dylan’s boxers down. A moment’s worry that Tyler would find something wrong with his dick was alleviated by Tyler’s hot wet mouth wrapping around the head. Dylan had to resist the urge to thrust, to fuck up into that heat, as Tyler quickly wrapped one hand around the base with just the right amount of force. And Dylan could not move.

Dylan knew then and there that he wasn’t going to last, that he was going to come and it was going to be fast and messy and fuck-it-all good. Tyler’s tongue seemed wired to every sensitive spot on his dick, tonguing and licking and pressing and… His orgasm was an unstoppable freight train, screeching through his body. Dylan tried tugging at Tyler’s hair but he was coming almost before he could finish, heart pounding, chest heaving, endless litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck”.

Tyler was kneeling back when Dylan could look down. He was grinning. And there was come in his stubble. Dylan tumbled downwards, not gracefully but eagerly, and licked it off before kissing Tyler softly again. “You…?”

“I’m good.” A quick glance down showed Tyler’s free hand clamped across his crotch. “You go shower.”

It took a few tries for Dylan to get back onto his feet but he eventually made it, sense of overwhelming wellness making him generous. “Want to come with?”

Tyler grinned up at him, wild and toothy and genuine.

“I’ll even let you wash my chest hair.” Dylan dodged the slap to his belly and ran through the apartment chuckling. He could hear Tyler following. Yeah. So this was better than moping.


End file.
